headshot.png

Robin Hebb.

writer, performer, cool girl.

 

A Toast.

A Toast.

Artwork By Agathe Sorlet

I’d like to propose a toast...

 

Let's raise a glass in honour of being the right kind of tired.

 

The kind of tired that can be cured with two cups of coffee.

 

The type of tired we feel after staying up too late on a weeknight because we ordered that second bottle of crap wine at that tacky suburban chain restaurant.

 

Here’s to how we feel after spending all day at the beach with sand stuck to our sweaty backs. 

 

Here’s to the nap after the cold shower.

 

To that familiar foggy feeling when you wake up.

 

To lying there a little bit longer.

 

To worrying about nothing except what you’re going to cook for dinner.

 

Here’s to having tired feet after attending an outdoor concert.

 

To sore muscles from

 

dancing all night

 

practicing yoga every day
 

biking across the city to visit friends

 

walking the long way home from the bar.

 

Here’s to having the luxury of taking the long way home from the bar because we've got nothing but time.

 

To witnessing the magic of the city at night.

 

Here’s to late nights drinking cheap wine on the couch while we introduce each other to new music -- to the stories those songs bring up.

 

Here’s to being up to no good after midnight.

 

Here’s to feeling sleepy after spending a night between the sheets with someone new.

 

Here’s to slowly forgetting the bad kind of tired.

 

To exhaustion becoming  a distant memory.

 

Nothing but a reminder of how good it feels to be the right kind of tired.

 

Here’s to the lessons exhaustion taught us

 

but also

 

here’s to sinking deep into the couch with a movie we’ve seen at least six times.

 

Here’s to getting the full eight hours.

 

Join me in raising a glass...

 

Here's to being right kind of tired-- because it means we’re doing well.

 

Cheers.

Booty Call Rehabilitation.

Booty Call Rehabilitation.

The Boy in My Pocket.

The Boy in My Pocket.